Shadow of Fear
by firefawn
Summary: In a single night the fires from hell rose up to rain ash from the sky, leaving the dead in its wake. There are some things the human mind should never be forced to comprehend, but for George Weasley, the choice is no longer his.
1. Hell's Fire

_"In tragedy every moment is eternity; in comedy eternity is a moment."   
Christopher Fry _

**Chapter 1 Hell's Fire**

The thunder began rolling.

_Only it wasn't thunder._

"Everybody down!"

His eyes turned to the Forbidden Forest, peering into it's dark depths.

His wand arm fell limply to his side, blue orb's widening in horror at what they saw.

Deep in the woods, far beneath it's skeletal boughs, death itself was emerging from twilight's shadows.

"Get down now!"

Harry's piercing cry tore through the night, ripping hope from his panicked heart.

His surrogate brother whorled in place, his jade eyes, clouded with misery, were sweeping the small force he himself stood within.

They had fought their way across the grounds, _together_. He and Fred had been on the periphery, protecting the groups interior as Hermione cast protective wards in their wake. Ginny and Luna hurled curses in every conceivable direction, dropping those who dared confront them, and Ron and Neville had stood side by side with Harry, maintaining the frontal assault.

Until Neville had fallen...

Ron had dropped besides him, healing potions in hand, and George had rushed to Harry's side, his feet crunching upon the leaf-strewn ground as his little brother went to work.

Bonded by wands in the midst of battle, they had all stood there, _together_, at the threshold of the Forbidden Forest.

It was then that Harry had sounded his final warning.

The sounds of battle faltered, and the palpable silence, so out of place in the fury of war, proved that he was not alone in feeling the reverberations in the blood soaked soil.

The palpitations drew their gazes far beneath the leering boughs, and trepidation shook them to their very cores.

The warnings had been uttered, Harry himself had warned them as they had poured from the castle, willingly following him into battle, _but they had not understood._

Human nature does not like to dwell upon the atrocities that can befall it. Perhaps that was why Harry's blunt warnings had fallen upon their deaf ears. But until they saw what the foreboding tales heralded, none of them had truly understood. He knew this to be true as the reddened tendrils reflected in his twin's eyes.

They had not understood. Not until they saw the fiery inferno billowing out from the forest, hurtling towards them.

No amount of ignorance, denial, or immortal illusions could save them now.

For Voldemort had succeeded in summoning the fires of hell to earth.

_It was upon them in the blink of an eye._

There was no time to do anything after that.

No time to move.

No time to think.

No time to react.

It was the last sight that many of them who stood there, bathed in the collective light of spell fire, would behold. Though he did not, _could not_, know at that time.

Instead his eyes were fixated on the ungodly sight before him. Never once did it occur to him that his time upon this plane of existence could be at an end, not even as the wave of fire careened closer.

The inferno surged forth, rumbling as if freight trains were in tow, wrenching limbs from their trunks, the wooden branches disappearing as the blaze swallowed them whole, concealing them within the monstrosity's gaping mouth.

Billows of dark smoke hung eerily behind, suspended by ghostly branches of trees now reduced to ash.

An eternity encompassing the span of mere seconds passed, and the powerful heat smashed against him. 

Harry's warning had been for naught, for there had been no time to move. Only the shelter of the forest tree line would shelter them from the initial onslaught, while those battling in the open would be completely exposed.

Despite the suddenness, despite the fact that he had been unable to do more than blink in fear, there had somehow been time for the image of the inferno to eternally sear itself upon his memory, as nothing else ever had.

Or ever would...

He took it all in.

The crinkling sound of disintegrating leaves pulled his eyes upwards, the canopy above him was being reduced to ash, raining black snow eerily down as the heat stretched out above him. The darkened flakes scattered chaotically, blanketing the world with the devil's smothering hand, filling the lungs of the living.

He choked, gasping for air robbed of Oxygen, his eyes tearing and flesh burning.

He caught one last sight of the distant, ever darkening sky beyond the burning leaves, and his reddening eyes held on to the fleeting image of the dim stars, caught in a silent plea to God.

_Please hear us..._

God did not hear.

A piercing scream ripped the final shred of hope from him. His resolve for survival, and the resolve of those who stood strong with him, shattered. They remained rooted in place, figurines in a sadistic snow globe raining black ice, the musical accompaniment his sister's soul shattering cry.

In awestruck horror he watched the black snow catch above him, frozen in mid-air as the first smoldering shock wave hit where they stood. The eyes of those around him were riveted upon the same ghastly sight. 

It was a sight too demoralizing for any human to behold, yet not a soul closed their eyes when it was their last right.

The darkened snow flakes were flung forcefully away from the forest, his body accompanying their violent flight.

The world upended, and there was Hermione in flight next to him, her arms outstretched, robes ablaze. She looked to be a fiery angel coasting upon a gentle breeze, not a fragile human flailing for life against a scalding torrent.

Hogwarts ruined grounds blurred before him, as his body twisted upon the shockwave. Fighters for both sides, students and Death Eaters, teachers and townsfolk, were falling before his very eyes, their still alive bodies buried beneath the wake of uplifted dirt and gravel riding upon the fireball Voldemort had unleashed.

Those who were not buried in the shockwave of debris dropped beneath the wave itself, their withering bodies consumed by flames in an instant that spanned eternity. It was like watching creation in reverse. For God could plaster skin artfully upon bone, and he could peel it away in fleshy, disintegrating layers.

Hermione's wings were no longer working.

She was falling, tumbling on the air current, debarking unexpectedly from their turbulent flight.

The realization sent his stomach lurching sickeningly.

Brown hair dropped down to lay concealed beneath a layer of twigs and charred remains of other humans, ones he had once known, ones who he would never again find. 

The wave of fire whipped her last strand out of sight.

It was only then that he realized that her hand still lay clutched tightly within his own. He had grabbed her mid-flight instinctively, and now her severed fingers lay within the confines of his own palm, her engagement ring reflecting the fire mockingly.

It was not until that instant, that he realized that he was going to die.

The world's slow motion reverie ended, sending his vision into a swirling blur of colors and hell.

The world he knew was gone.

Now it was time for the real horror to begin.


	2. Ten Feet to Freedom

_"Fire is never a gentle master."  
Proverbs _

**Chapter 2 Ten Feet to Freedom **

Amidst the shambles of a broken forest, buried deep beneath half charred limbs and the ash of a thousand forever lost boughs, a spot of green re-awakened his senses.

A small shred of artificial light had snaked its way down, through the debris, to fall upon several shoots of dust covered grass.

George Weasley stirred.

The first sensation that met him was one of total numbness. He was aware of being sprawled out, enveloped in unearthly darkness, yet that was all.

He felt _nothing..._

Then his lungs cried out for air.

A hacking cough racked his battered body, his mouth gasping for air that the hard impact had driven from his lungs, and it all came flooding back.

A thousand nerves screamed in unison, sending white hot messages through his now tingling limbs. The numbness was being replaced by blinding pain.

His fingers grasped at the ground beneath him, meeting only splintery ash. Panic ebbed at the edge of his dazed mind, and he frantically searched beneath the rubble for something familiar, something solid to hold onto.

The only grass to be seen, or felt, lay directly beneath his blood covered nose.

The very grass bent down, weighted with thick coagulations.

He jerked at the sight, his hand smacking into something, though he could not see what. His blurred vision could barely discern anything, for the debris covering him blocked out all semblance of light save for the one wavering ray. 

He clenched his fist, instinctively knowing his palm had been punctured, but as he turned to look, he realized he could not.

He could barely move at all.

Somewhere between this realization and the darkness, George began to panic.

_He was trapped._

Trapped beneath the rubble.

Trapped beneath the oppressive weight of his memory.

Trapped beneath all the fiery wave had demolished.

All of this hit him within seconds of consciousness.

Hyperventilating, his mouth flapped like a suffocating fish on land.

Oxygen dwindled from the air. He was sure of it. All there was to draw forth into his desperate lungs was more filth and powdery ash. It was like choking on thousands of tiny rocks.

Feeling was returning to him. He could feel something pressing down hard against his spine, and the realization that he was being crushed sent his limbs floundering amidst the indistinguishable objects.

He needed to get out. He needed to escape. He needed _air_.

It was then that he heard the first signs of life above, and the shards shifted around him.

_He could move._

Someone was walking around up there, and their very footsteps had dislodged the wreckage impeding his movements.

He was not the only survivor.

_Merlin he wasn't alone..._

A strange calm filled him, his pattern of breath easing.

_He wasn't alone._ Someone else was up there, searching for survivors, and they would be needing help. 

He'd be damned if he let them search alone.

Flexing his muscles testingly, he began taking an inventory of his body. It was painstakingly slow, too slow, but parts of him still reeled from the shock of impact.

He would not fathom the burns. He did not want to.

Everything was in order. Everything save for his left foot, which was caught beneath a fallen tree.

He had not even known it was there.

Drawing pained breath between his teeth he went to work, kicking the wood with his freed foot, yanking with his other.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, he managed to wiggle his left foot free of the timber pinning it. When everything had shifted, its pressure must have lightened. Now only his shoe remained caught beneath it.

Laboriously he reached heavenwards, if there were a heaven at all, and blindly grasped the still searing object that pinned him to the ground. It was metal, of that he was certain, for it cut and dug into his back, ripping what was left of his robes as he pushed it away.

His hands slipped, and for one agonizing moment he thought it would come crashing back down upon him. Perhaps there was a good, for his hands caught a good grip, sparing him the pain it would have caused. If it had cut into him again, he was not entirely sure he would have had the strength for a second try.

Determinedly he kept one hand behind his head, holding the object in place, and with a care and patience he had not known himself to before possess, George flipped his body over till he lay on his back, pushing himself out from under what he now saw to be one of the shield's the younger students had been using.

He hadn't remembered those things being so heavy...

Drawing his legs to his torso, till he lay curled in an awkward fetal position, George removed himself from harms way, before letting the shield fall to the ground.

The charred body of a small first year clattered to the ground with it.

The bile he had been choking back could be withheld no longer, and his hacking, dust filled vomits filled the air.

"Oye! I think I heard something!"

The nearby voice forgotten, he continued hacking till the ground lay littered with something other than gray ash.

His body had been shielded from the blast by a fallen shield.

The poor child on the other side of it had not been so lucky.

"Hey! Hey! Is someone down there?" 

The unfamiliar voice continued shouting, and it took several moments for George to comprehend that it was him they were shouting for.

Finally, drawing his eyes away from the withered form before him, he turned his eyes heavenward once again, finally taking in the full extent of the wreckage trapping him in.

"I see someone! I see someone!"

Above him was an interlacing latticework of stone and timber, an organized chaos that would crush him if dislodged too far. It was only a story high at the most, but the distance might as well have stretched to the astronomy tower.

It was so compact that there was no room for him to even stand, and a sudden fear struck him.

If he touched anything the entire network could come careening down around him. He was amazed it hadn't already.

Claustrophobia set in.

Right now he was the one who needed the rescuing.

His voice gruff and rasping he called to them, and after what seemed like days, those above him began shouting instructions at him.

Piece by piece the wizards above began levitating the rubble away, wrapping ropes around fallen trees to ensure they held in place. The rescuers were taking no chances.

While they worked, the most primitive of urges hit him. He squirmed his body as far as he dared, sacrificing modesty for safety, and relieved himself.

Finally enough of the rubble had been removed to create a small shaft stretching upwards. Accepting a rope offered by those above, he wrapped it around his waist, threading it through his belt loops, and began his ascent, shimming carefully in the darkness. His only light came from a levitated orb high above where the workers stood, but little of it reached him.

He soon discovered a hidden danger in his ascent.

_Ash._

It covered everything, making his footholds slippery, and there were more than a few scares.

_Ten feet to freedom._

As he craned his neck, looking upwards through the shaft, the moon appeared.

Then disappeared...

A burnt hand reached down, grasping his own, and tugged.

For the first time in over four hours, George's bloodshot eyes met the night sky in all it's glory.

For a long moment he stood there, panting with exertion, allowing the rescuer to steady his unstable feet. But eventually, as his breathing eased, he summoned the strength to look at the world before him.

He watched it with detached clarity.

The looming walls of Hogwarts stood less than half a pitch away. How he had been flung so far, yet lived, he did not know, but in certain places, holes had been blasted through its stone exterior. Dim pinpoints of light could be seen within, moving around.

Voldemort's fury had been strong enough to demolish the protective preservation spells surrounding the castle.

_And all within its path..._

The fact that students had been sheltering within its walls when it hit, had not yet sunk in.

He swallowed, ignoring the perspiration trickling into his eyes, and turned away. He was unable to take in the horrid visage any longer.

His once mischievous orbs would be forever dulled by the site that met him. The once lush grounds lay dead and barren, for the debris lay piled high nearest the school, sloping off into a blackened ash beach where the Forbidden Forest had once forebodingly stood.

The fiery wave had completely seared all that had fallen under it's path, flinging all that had ridden upon it's wave, as he had done, nearest to the school, where he now stood at the apex of the debris.

Uprooted trees, dirt, dust, and stone lay beneath him.

And so did people...

"Sir..." The sudden intrusion jolted him. But the man he leant upon seemed not to notice. A sad smile was fixed on the man's weatherworn face, and he spoke so formally that George had the sudden inclination to laugh out loud. Here they were, amidst hell itself, and a man twice his age was calling _him_ of all people sir. Sir indeed...

The man continued smiling strangely. "Sir it'z not safe 'ere..." 

"George..." He rasped out, barely recognizing his own parched voice. "The name's George."

The kindly man smiled, dark eyes showing a spark of life beneath his soot covered face. "Trevor. I'm glad yer alright George, but we need ta get ya out of 'ere."

George smiled, not wanting to go. If he could he would stand there forever. He wasn't ready to face what he had just seen. Not yet anyways.

"You know I knew a boy named Neville," He rasped, breathing in the foul, smoke filled air. "He had a toad named Trevor."

Trevor's sad smile was back. "Did he now? I'm sure 'e still has 'em." 

George could only shake his head, a dark feeling sweeping over him.

Mutely he allowed Trevor to lead him over the rubble, following the older man's steps carefully, for their path was precarious. There were places, as they made their descent, where one foul slip would send him careening back down into the black hole from which he had been unearthed.

Placing one bare foot in front of the other, for somewhere along the line he had lost both of his shoes and one sock, he tried to not think about Neville.

The pudgy fellow never stood a chance. He had already fallen, and unlike George, who had been standing and was flung with it, the wave would have swept right over the fallen Gryffindor.

Ron had been kneeling besides him...

A dry sob caught in George's throat, and he froze in place.

A cool night breeze brushed against him, disrupting the gray as ash dust, sending it scattering like sand across a beachfront.

Only here the beachfront was gray and the ocean black, with pools of fire bubbling up, for beneath the ocean of ash a hidden inferno still burned.

_If there were other survivors they had very little time._

"I want to help," He wheezed loudly, watching Trevor stop.

He expected the older man to protest, to tell him he was too young to make a difference. He had heard the same phrase too many times to count over the past year.

Trevor instead eyed him appraisingly. "We better get dat 'ere burn taken care of. And find you som' shoes. It's hazardous enough walkin' aroun' with 'em let alone without 'em."

George nodded, following him with renewed vigor across the grounds.

"What do we do first?" He rasped above the flames.

Trevor marched purposely ahead, his Muggle plaid shirt ruffling in the wind.

"Save 'em George. It's de only thing we can do."


End file.
